Bloodied Hearts
by Delilah Wigglesworth
Summary: One-shot. This is quite dark, and probably very UNcharacter-like. But I was in a dark mood when I wrote it. Hope it's not too bad. Major Suze metaphorical-whumping when her heart and world is broken.


**A/N:** Hulloooo! **xxreixx** you persuaded me to finally post this. I wrote it ages ago but didn't think it was very good so I didn't bother posting it. I haven't read it through or edited it because I don't lik re-reading stuff I've written. So if it doesn't make sense, och well.

Sorry I haven't updated my O.H story for ages. But I HAVE had tonnes of homework projects - it's Open Day soon so we got loadsa projects and posters and crap like that to prepare for it and teachers are getting testy. Also, it was my birthday yesterday so I've been kinda busy, lol.

My 1800-Where-R-You story has been removed. Don't know if I should post it on my website or just try and contact Fanfic dudes and ask them to put a Missing category up. I don't know. So if you were wondering where THAT piece was; IT'S GONE!!!!

I have also been very very ill recently, which may SOUND irrevlevant, but I was in fact planning to do some updating this week seeing as I can't at the weekend (birthday sleepover - though it may now be postponed due to pukiness). So if a few of you could chuck me a sympathetic "aaaw", that would be cool! Ta much, mates!

Anyway, hope you don't hate me too much for writing this (hate me for it's crappiness and actual content, hehehe)

* * *

My heart was slowly dying along with the rest of me.

He had left me, beaten, battered, bruised.

He had left me to die. All on my own. Knowing I had no one else to be held by or comforted by.

And so here I was. Bleeding thickly from my heart, from my mind, from my very soul. And, _God_, it hurt! It hurt so, so much. It was like being ripped to shreds from the inside, and then having those shreds set alight. How could he do this to me?

How could he _do_ this to me?

My face was a mess. Red and swollen. I could barely see. And breathing was getting difficult. I needed to calm down, reduce my heart's frantic beatings to gentle murmurs. Get full breaths in, not just short, wasted gasps. But the pain...

My heart was exploding. So slowly... Like someone had plunged a knife, deep down inside it.

Well, that was what he had done. Sort of.

So here I was. All alone. And dying. And I thought he'd loved me! Then why had he kicked me so hard? Why had he ripped chunks out of me like I was some kind of clay voodoo doll? Why had he left me here, lying in the grass in the graveyard, dying a painful, lonely death?

What had I done to deserve it?

Why didn't he love me?

Why did no one love me?

Because I was unlovable. And that was it. Why would anyone _want_ to love me? He hadn't. Otherwise he _wouldn't have left me._

I wanted him; all of him. I didn't want him to leave me. I had begged him, pleaded with him.

"Don't let me be alone," I'd cried. "Please...I love you! God, don't _do_ this, Jesse! I _need_ you! I can't...I can't...Oh, God, I can't live without you!" The tears had been uncontrollable and he hadn't flinched. He _hadn't moved an inch._

Just stared down at me with dark, unfathomable eyes. "I don't need you, Susannah."

I gasped at the pain this caused. He carried on regardless. "I _don't_ want you. I _don't_ love you."

But why? I wanted to scream. Why didn't he want me or love me or need me like _I needed him?_

Didn't he _know_ that I would _die_ without him?

_Why didn't he know? Why didn't he care?_

But begging hadn't mattered. God, how pathetic.

And now there's a gaping wound in my heart. And everyone could see it. It's like a window. A window into how _pathetic and unlovable_ _I am_. Something's been ripped out of me. Something's been torn from me and I can't get it back. But I need it. I need him.

I need Jesse.

_Why wasn't he here?_

I really can't breathe. It's too much. He left me for dead. I'm nothing without him, _nothing!_

I've screamed until my throat was coarse. Screaming curses, pleas, prayers, _everything and anything_.

And in return, I got nothing.

I felt ugly and raw and bloody and stupid. I didn't want to be seen, I didn't need to feel any uglier than I already did.

_I didn't deserve this._

But I was getting it. I was getting the heartache and the pulsating void inside me that won't let me be. That won't leave me alone to my own thoughts. Constantly reminding me that I'm not even complete. I'm worthless and _pathetic_ and pitiful because of that void. I was stupid to even _begin_ to think I was anything but that.

So here I am. Lying broken, mentally. Scarred, mentally.

He had left me, beaten, battered, bruised, all mentally.

Which was so much worse. Because I couldn't escape it. I couldn't escape how real it was, how truly, truly pathetic it was. How truly pathetic _I was_.

He had ripped those chunks from my heart and soul, he had kicked me so hard in my thoughts, rupturing through them and revealing the ugly truth: He didn't love me.

He had left me to die.

Because, honestly, how could he even begin to think that I could even try to live without him? The second he moved on to another life, I died in mine.


End file.
